


I'm a stitch away from making it (and a scar away from falling apart)

by cardinal__sin



Category: IT (2019), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Fix-It, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Hospitals, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, Injury Recovery, M/M, Movie: IT Chapter Two (2019), POV Richie Tozier, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Recovery, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, alternate universe - eddie lives, im gay and emo, so many tags wowie, this is gay rip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 06:30:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinal__sin/pseuds/cardinal__sin
Summary: Richie Tozier and the Surprise of the Fucking Century, or: Eddie wakes up a week after they've killed IT and they talk about adult things, including, but not limited to love confessions.





	I'm a stitch away from making it (and a scar away from falling apart)

**Author's Note:**

> title from The (After) Life of the Party by Fall Out Boy

Eddie Kaspbrak starts talking at 10:37 PM. At that point he’s been awake for about ten minutes, and has spent seven of those with looking all around the room, eyes still a little unfocused. For the last three minutes he’s been staring at Richie, barely blinking. It’s starting to freak Richie out, you know, in a very casual, _what the fuck is he staring at_ way.

“Did I die?” Eddie asks finally, voice raspy from disuse and sleep. Richie doesn’t miss the painful grimace, a nice reminder of the stitches in Eddie’s cheek for both of them. It’s not as bad as the rest of his body, what with the miraculously non-fatal stab wound – Richie is pretty sure stabbing is not the accurate word here, but then his second best bet is impaling and that just sounds too gore-y for him to use in relation to Eddie.

“I mean, I did shave and wash my hair, if that counts as heaven for you, Eds…” Richie trails off, a small smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth. Eddie smiles at that and tries a tiny little laugh. As good as it is to hear him laugh, it soon turns out to be a horrible idea, and Richie helps Eddie sit and drink, keeps a hand on his back until the violent, dry coughs subside. It sounds terrible, but Eddie waves away Richie’s continued fussing. So Richie lets him be, sits back in his chair and waits until Eddie situates himself in a half-sitting position, face twisting in pain from moving so much. Richie is amazed at his strength, he’s in love, he’s kind of freaking out about being in love, and he’s really fucking happy that Eddie is alive.

Until Eddie ruins it, that is.

“Knew I couldn’t be in heaven when I saw your ugly face, Rich,” he says, “no way any angel would look like that.”

_Fuck you_, Richie thinks, and _Ouch_, but he doesn’t say it because he’s just too fucking happy about Eddie finally being awake for more than a few, hazy minutes, him talking to Richie, and even insulting him in that all too familiar Eddie way. Things are as close to normal as they can be, considering that Eddie is recovering from being stabbed by a murder clown.

There’s a lull in the conversation, Eddie lying back against his pillows, trying to catch his breath – all that moving around must have been exhausting for him – and Richie just sort of staring straight ahead. It’s still a little surreal, this whole Eddie being alive deal. He can barely remember the events after the deadlights, his brain going a mile a minute trying to dig up and piece together the memories.

There’s Eddie’s eyes, and the way he smiled at Richie, saying how he’s killed IT. There’s the taste of Eddie’s blood in his mouth, Eddie’s voice calling his name in that broken little voice, sounding just like he did when he was thirteen. His own voice, stuttering out one pathetic little _Eddie?_ after the other. Hugging Eddie close, screaming at Bill that Eddie is just hurt, that he’s okay, crying and cradling his body even tighter against his chest. Beverly sobbing out, _honey, he’s dead_, him screaming _fuck you, he’s not_ back at her. Begging for Ben to help. Ben carrying Eddie, so pale and so still in his arms.

Waiting for endless hours until Eddie would be out of surgery. Praying that he’d make it through. Thinking about how he’s never once prayed in his life before this. Getting coffee from the vending machine and breaking down sobbing because Eddie would hate how unsanitary a hospital vending machine must be, and _do you have a fucking deathwish, Tozier?_

Eddie, unconscious, smaller than ever in the pristine white hospital bed. Machines beeping. Hours ticking by, days turning slowly into weeks.

Eddie waking up for the first time.

They’re not whole memories, none of them, more like the remnants of an adrenaline high, but they’re there and that’s enough, because if he just focuses on Eddie’s smile and his happiness, he can pretend that he didn’t almost die right after. It’s cool. He’s coping. And Eddie’s alive, so.

“What are you staring at?” Eddie asks, after what could have been two minutes or half an hour. Richie snaps out of it, and realizes his gaze has been fixed on Eddie the whole time. Shitfuck.

“Just your cute face, Eddie Spaghetti,” he says, hoping the douche-y tone of his voice covers up all that nervous energy and Intense Pining. Eddie scrunches up his nose in that _wow, you’re so fucking irritating_ way of his. Success.

Eddie flips him off, but it’s more of a reflex, not a genuine gesture. It’s weird how their friendship is just throwing insults at each other, and it’s even weirder how natural it is to Richie. Maybe they just share an infinitely fucked up love language, but it’s also just…them, and it’s perfect in Richie’s eyes because of that.

“Fuck you,” Eddie adds, sort of as an afterthought, smiling tiredly. Richie can tell he’s exhausted already, he himself is too, damn it. And maybe that’s why he can’t stop himself before

“Eds, you’re a married man, you shouldn’t make offers like that,” falls out of his mouth along with a scandalized little gasp.

The cheerful, light atmosphere disappears in half a second. Richie is screaming _what the fuck???_ at himself internally, trying to figure out how he can stuff his words back inside and pretend this didn’t just happen. Eddie is suddenly tense, shutting himself down and Richie curses even more because he didn’t mean to –

“I’m getting a divorce,” Eddie says, very, very quietly. He’s twisting his wedding band around his finger, and he decisively avoids looking into Richie’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, what the fuck?”

“You heard me, dipshit. I’m getting divorced as soon as I’m out of this hospital.”

“Huh?”

“Oh my god, Richie,” Eddie yells, clearly frustrated by Richie’s braindead responses. Understandable. “I. Don’t. Love. Myra.”

He says it with big pauses between the words, like he’s talking to a little child about spilling cereal everywhere or shit, and Richie wants to punch him. Or kiss him? Eh, he can never know with Eddie.

“I mean,” he says, trying to not look nervous as heck, “that’s valid and all, but why are we talking about this right now?”

Eddie takes a deep breath.

“You know, while you were bullying a clown to death and I was bleeding out, I had some time to do some thinking and a bit of re-evaluating my life. And it sucks, Richie. I have a wife I don’t love, a job I only like because my mother managed to raise me into a paranoid germophobe hypochondriac, and a group of friends I love more than anything but didn’t know about until Mike called again. And I don’t want to go back to that life, and I really don’t want to go back to Myra either. Especially ‘cause being here made me realize that I’m in love with someone else, and…” He pauses, out of breath. Richie stares some more. “And ‘cause I’m gay.”

“Huh.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to stare now, and he does so, glaring with all the fire he can muster, deep chocolate eyes burning holes through Richie’s soul.

“That’s…not the reaction I expected,” he says, voice carefully measured, although a bit tight. Richie swallows hard and tries for a laugh but it comes out shaky and pathetic. Yeah, it’s not what he’d expected either. In the sense that he’d meant to say more, not just a dumb fucking _huh_, and in the sense that he didn’t expect Eddie to say that. He’d had a gut feeling about Eddie’s feelings for Myra, but someone else, and the gay thing? That was a surprise.

“What did you expect then, Eds?”

He doesn’t get the usual, indignant _don’t call me Eds_. It’s surprising to say in the least, maybe even worrying. Eddie gives him A Look. Eyebrows raised, mouth curling at the corners, he just _looks_ at Richie and it’s the worst thing ever.

Richie stares back.

Here are the facts:

Eddie is gay.

Eddie is in love with someone and he only realized it when the Losers reunited.

Eddie is in love with one of the male losers.

Eddie is giving him A Look.

It’s a stretch, but it sort of makes sense, if Richie thinks about it. And he does, thinks back to when they were kids, and then the time they spent together killing IT for the second time, this time for good; thinks of how close they’ve always been, how, to him, it was just the world’s easiest thing to love Eddie Kaspbrak and how Eddie could have returned his feelings all that time, maybe. It’s. It’s a lot, to be honest, and he’s still not sure about all this, but he’s also been in love with Eddie for at least thirty years so at this point he just thinks _fucking hell, here goes nothing_, and says it.

“I’m in love with you, Eds.”

There. It’s out.

It takes him about two seconds to regret it all. Because wow, Eddie being gay and in love with someone doesn’t mean it’s _him_, and this is the worst fucking thing he could have done and wow he’s going to throw up –

“Chee.”

“I know, I’m so sorry, fuck, I know, I shouldn’t have –” Richie stops his mouth from making things even worse, shakes his head to keep the fucking tears at bay.

“I should go,” he croaks out, and he’s already halfway across the room, when Eddie fucking _laughs_ at him.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” Eddie says, because he’s a nice person like that. God, how Richie managed to fall for the most annoying little motherfucker – almost literally, ain’t that hilarious – on God’s green earth.

“It’s obviously you.”

So, Eddie might have caused him to have a heart attack.

“Me.”

“Yeah.”

Such deep conversation.

“Huh. That’s… Neat?” Richie says, and turns back to Eddie, who is smiling, even though he looks like he’s seconds away from falling asleep.

“So, what now?”

Eddie yawns. That, somehow, is still one of the most endearing things about him. Maybe because he can’t talk shit when he’s yawning, who knows.

“I’m going to sleep I think, talking to you is exhausting as all fuck, Trashmouth. We can, I don’t know, talk about this tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that’s – that sounds good,” Richie croaks out, still weirded the fuck out that this just happened. “Want me to stay?”

Eddie nods. Richie pulls up his chair and watches Eddie nestle into his pillows, finding the least painful position to sleep in. Eddie arranges the IV tube (and all the other things that Richie’s not sure what they’re good for) with his familiar, precise movements, fussing with them until he’s satisfied. Richie watches with a fond half-smile. Eddie is one adorable fucker.

“I fucking hate hospitals,” said adorable fucker grumbles, and reaches for Richie’s hand. Richie tangles their fingers together, thinks _wow this is wild_, and with an internal sigh, gets ready to deal with his brain short-circuiting on him with every display of affection, which are bound to happen from now on.

He knows that what Eddie really means is that he hates _this_ hospital, hates remembering spending hours in the ER with his mother who kept forcing imaginary diseases on him. He squeezes Eddie’s hand a little, reassuring him that he’s there.

Eddie falls asleep with a soft smile on his lips, and Richie follows him soon enough, the soft breathing of the love of his life – because Eddie is – lulling him to sleep. He sleeps holding Eddie’s hand, skin warm against his, a constant reminder that Eddie is alive, that he hadn’t lost him down under Neibolt. He sleeps holding onto all things left unsaid between them, and the promise that they’ll have the time together to say them all, over and over again. Richie sleeps, his dreams free of ITs constant taunting. He sleeps peacefully, undisturbed. And for the first time in twenty-seven years, the night does not speak.

**Author's Note:**

> hi ho, this is my first ever Reddie fic - this is my first ever non-bandom fic, actually, so idk if it's any good lmao  
i loved working with Richie's POV, I imagine his inner dialogue to be similar to mine, so you know, it's kinda weird.  
anyway, thanks for reading, dear reader, now go, wallow in the reddie feels by yourself, or hit me up on tumblr @cardinalxsin to yell your sorrows into my inbox. thanks for reading!


End file.
